Turtleized
by Janette Morgan
Summary: A short piece about a fancharacter coming to be the dreaded Mutant Girl Turtle Who Romances Canon Character. Meant to be humorous, but came out a little darker. Implied DonxOC, oneshot. Rated for implied thematic elements.


You ever read those fanfics about the characters who become mutant turtles? Or mutant cats? Or just get dumped by the world in general and wind up living with the Ninja Turtles, possibly with added romance?

I do. So, in the course of an evening, I came up with this. It's not a very high-flak parody, but I made sure to observe certain irritating elements.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any affiliated characters. Nor do I own New York City.

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It all started when I was walking home from my low-paying, dead-end job with a jerk boss and nasty coworkers that totally sucked. It was a dark alley in the middle of the night in New York City, but that was all right, because I had black belts in judo, karate, tai chi, tae kwon do and kung fu. I mean, I was unstoppable. The week before, for instance, Peter Farkson - one of my jerkwad coworkers - had been hitting it on me, taking it a bit rougher than I was willing to sit with, and I knocked his lights out right there in the alley behind the shop. I do all my butt-kicking in alleys, because it's cool. You have to be cool in New York if you want to, well, you know, _live._

I wasn't really on my guard, though. I was in familiar territory; anyone living there knew not to mess with me, so I was on minimal mode. I guess that's how Farkson managed to surprise me, springing up from inside a trashcan.

I froze.

Seeing that he had my attention, Farkson started yelling, and of course he was yelling about last week's incident. "Do you SEE what you did to me?" he demanded, gesturing to his face. Of course I saw it, and I took a moment to admire my handiwork -- the bruises were clearing up, but the scars would take a little longer... say, a few more decades.

"Yeah," I said. "Guess you deserved it!"

"For what?" he demanded. "Getting a little too friendly for your delicate psyche, was I? Overstepped some teensy boundary, so you did _this?_ Thanks to you, no girl will even _look_ at me!"

I shrugged. Didn't seem like much of a loss.

"Well, I'm here to repay the favor, you psychotic freak!" he ranted, and suddenly pulled out some kind of canister from his pants. "When you get out of here tonight, you won't be able even to get your _job_ back!"

Then he opened the canister and threw it at me. I backed up immediately -- dodging is something else you do in New York if you want to, well, you know, _live._ It could have been acid!

I might have made it away if my foot hadn't gotten caught on the edge of an open manhole.

As I teetered backward into the hole, all vestments of cool left me, which wasn't hard considering it was just a cover for my inner kind and sensitive personality. Oh, crap, you weren't supposed to know about that until a certain purple-bandana'd turtle coaxed it out of me and-

Crud. I just gave away the entire story, didn't I?

Never mind. You didn't hear anything, did you? No? _Yes?_ Darn you, FORGET!

I fell into the gaping void, screaming. (I _told_ you I lost my cool!) And as I plummeted into the depths of the sewer, the open canister spilled its contents onto my voluptious yet scantily-clothed chest, drenching my skin, shirt and jacket in green slime just as my back collided painfully with a pile of trash.

I lay there, stunned. Was my back broken? I couldn't tell. All I could think about was Farkson's sneering face as the #& hurled the can of goop in my direction. Actually, I was having trouble thinking about that, too; in fact, I was starting to feel woozy.

The last thing I remembered seeing was the face of a small turtle that had clambered up onto my generous chest in order to mock my plight as it stared, unsympathetically, into my eyes. Stupid turtle.

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I woke up an indeterminate time later feeling like crap. I judged this comparison on the basis that (a) during my sleep, I had sunk heavily into the pile of trash (dead weight, I decided) and (b) my jacket and shorts felt uncomfortably tight when I shifted my appendages.

Groaning, I opened my eyes. I hadn't been out long; the only light coming through the manhole was cast from faraway streetlamps and stars, AKA not a whole lot. The mocking turtle was gone, and... whoa.

So were my breasts.

I couldn't see very well, but the chest in front of me was definitely not mine. There was a... plastron. Given that I've never had even a passing fancy in biology, I have no idea how I knew that word, but there it was, a horrible shade of yellow. Beyond that were a pair of legs -- green, grossly overgrown and entangled in my shorts. I had no idea what those foot-like things were at the end of them, but they had about three less toes than I was used to, which was disgusting.

_No,_ I thought. _This can't be my body. Some weirdo must have come in and dropped a costume on top of me and-_

I moved my legs, which turned out to be exactly where my eyes were putting them.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed. I tried to bolt upright, but something was weighing me down - like a huge backpack - so I rolled out of the trash and pushed myself up with my barely-mobile arms. The reason that they were immobile, of course, was that they too were swollen and twisted into alien shapes, their only advantage on the legs being that of a finger. But there was more than that; whatever was on my back was stretching out my jacket, restricting movement even further. In a blind panic, I stumbled around, attempting to work the jacket off, until I tripped against the wall and was knocked unconscious.

At least in _that_ state I was okay.

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When I woke up again, I had a pounding headache, but to my relief, I was no longer in the sewer.

Or was I? No, sewers didn't have couches.

I was laying on this particular couch, propped against something large and extremely firm, stray springs digging into my back.

_Wait a minute._

I checked the sensations again. I was definitely leaning against something large and extremely firm, but it was the outside of this something that the springs were digging into.

_Aw, crap._

I opened my eyes. The same body as earlier greeted my view, except my shorts were gone and my arms felt considerably liberated. Taking the first opportunity, I raised a hand and probed all three fingers into the shape of my face. Which wasn't my face anymore.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, somehow under the impression that it would help. It didn't.

I was a freak of nature.

"I'M A FREAK OF NATURE!" I screamed, making sure whoever had dragged me here and taken off my clothes knew. Not to mention the turtle who had earlier been mocking my plight. I hoped that turtle was happy.

Then I heard footsteps, and within seconds a large, green, purple-bandana'd face appeared within my vision. Similarly deformed hands clasped around my own.

"Are you all right?" the figure asked.

And now, though I wasn't supposed to know who he was yet, Donatello was here. Let the pity-fest-followed-by-friendship-bonding-and-eventually-romance begin.


End file.
